Nightmares and headaches
by Lettingoffsteam
Summary: Dean and Sam are hunting a Nightmare in Des Moines...or is it hunting them? A Supernatural fic (no slash) People start dying suspiciously after nightmares, the brothers investigate...and it doesn't pan out so well for Dean. Hurt!Dean and angst... This is my first EVER fanfic and I just finished it and I would LOVE some reviews so I know if it's okay! Rated M 'cause I'm paranoid.
1. Seems simple

Ahhh, nervous hello to everyone, this is my first entry here, and my first ever fanfic!

I hope you guys like it

The boys are looking for a Nightmare, but who's hunting whom?

From Sam's perspective.

This is set somewhere after Hook Man in season one and before they find their dad...

Please review and stuff, and thanks for reading :)

The lyrics are from Alice Cooper's "Welcome to my Nightmare"

**Oh, and I don't own any of the characters in this, just love 'em...would be so cool if they did any episode on nightmares :D**

* * *

Nightmares and Headaches

Welcome to my nightmare, I think you're gonna like it, I think you're gonna feel you belong.  
A nocturnal vacation, unnecessary sedation, you want to feel at home 'cause you belong.  
Welcome to my nightmare

"Dean?"

I turned another corner in the packed warehouse, my breath catching as I heard faint movement coming from ahead, to my left.

I snapped my mouth closed, wincing at the sound of my teeth clashing together.

It was kind of hard to look for my brother when I couldn't make a noise.

I sighed, advancing slowly, step by step, hoping I was ready for whatever was around the corner.

Suddenly, horribly, I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. It was far louder in here than I was used to, and it made me jump.

There was a kind of hiss, and the sound of rapid footsteps.

I pressed myself against the row of boxes closest to me, holding my breath.

Yeah Dean, this worked out **real **simple...

* * *

2 days earlier.

_"It'll be simple, Sam, I told you. We head into town, act all touristy-like, get a hold on this thing, and bam, we're out of here and into the Windy City for a little rest and recuperation...and by rest and recuperation, I mean anything but, " my brother said with a wink._

_I rolled my eyes._

_"Yeah, but Dean, any plan that starts with 'we'll be the bait', just doesn't hit me as being well thought out."_

_"Sammy has anyone ever told you, you worry too much? Just relax, you'll live longer."_

_I sighed, rubbing the heels of my palms into my eyes._

_It had been a long drive to Des Moines, and Dean had been far more boisterous than usual, prompting me to worry; Dean in a good mood usually meant he was playing up to distract himself, or me, from how he really felt._

_"Don't you remember last time we were here? We almost got ourselves killed. I just don't want to go in blind, that's all."_

_Dean snorted. "Is there a single city we haven't almost got ourselves killed in?" He mimicked my exasperated voice, raising his eyebrows at me, as though pushing me to be annoyed._

_"Dean, would you quit it with the attitude! I'm being serious here, I've got a bad feeling about this job."_

_"Look, Sam, every job we do has an element of risk. And you've been interested in Nightmares since you were yay high." He held up a hand to his stomach, a proud little smile plastered onto his face._

_"Yeah. And I know how dangerous they can be. I'm okay with physical danger, that's just a part of what we do. But stuff like this...I don't know, I just don't like it. There isn't nearly enough information about this thing."_

_Dean waved a hand dismissively. "Dude, you worry too much."_

_I was getting real sick of trying to reason with my often-irritating brother and his over –confidence._

_"Dean, please, just let me research Nightmares a little more before we bring it down on our heads."_

_Dean looked at me anxiously for a second, then quickly returned to his macho stare-down._  
_"Sammy, this thing is scaring people to death. There've been 15 deaths this week alone...man, we have to do something now. We've got a serial-killing supe on the loose."_

_I knew that as well as he did. There had been heart attacks, and worse, in healthy, young people, some of them no older than 16, and all of them fatal, preceded by vicious night terrors._

_Resignedly, I regarded my brothers' earnest expression._

_"I know man, I just...it feels wrong. I wish we had more time."_

_"Me too, little bro. But we gotta do something, fast. All these deaths...you know, the latest kid was at a sleep clinic when he died. 18 years old, hacked to death in his sleep, and everyone's on the lookout for your everyday slasher psychopath. We know what it is, and we have a responsibility to help these people."_

_My brother, the drinking, womanising, innuendo-prone hero-man. I was probably the closest person to him, knew him best, and yet he'd still say things that surprise the hell out of me. He's so immature...but he's somehow the most caring, reliable person I know._

_I looked him square in the eyes, and nodded. "Okay. If we're doing this, we're gonna need some supplies."_

* * *

There was silence now. The footsteps had passed, and it was claustrophobic in the near-dark and humid warehouse.

I needed to find Dean, but I couldn't be sure the Nightmare wasn't hiding close by, waiting to find me.

I chanced it.

"Dean?" My voice bounced off the high ceiling, echoing into itself like there were a dozen Sams all calling out.

There was a pause as the sound faded.

Then faintly, "Sammy?"

Dean's voice was coming from ahead of me.

I picked my way carefully toward it.

"Keep talking, Dean. Where are you?"

"I'm—", he paused to clear his throat, "I'm in a warehouse," he said groggily.

Oh, really?

"Are you okay?"

"Head hurts."  
"Did you fight this thing, or just drink a little too much last night?"

"Haha, very funny."

"Okay, so what happened?"

There was nothing, just the dank silence of the warehouse.

"Dean?"  
He didn't answer.

I jogged a little now. This warehouse was deceptively massive.

"Dean, talk to me, man. You okay?"

"Sam...I..."

"What?"His voice was close now. I made for it determinedly.

"I, uh...I can't...move."

I got round another wall of boxes and saw my brother.

He was leaned against a massive steel frame with junk piled in its shelves, his legs splayed in front of him and his arms at his sides, with a confused and slightly desperate look in his eyes.

His brow furrowed as he clearly made an effort to move, to make his body obey him.

Nothing doing.

He looked up at me, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"Sammy, I can't move."

* * *

TBC: it's 2.30 am now and I must sleep, hope you guys like 'cause I'm planning on continuing ASAP!

Oh, and sorry if there are any errors or anything, see above for the reason!


	2. There's Something About Mary

Welcome to my breakdown.  
I hope I didn't scare you.  
That's just the way we are when we come down.  
We sweat and laugh and scream here.

_"Okay, so we know this thing is hiding out in one of the warehouses south of downtown Des Moines, although we have no idea why...I mean, it's odd, isn't it?"  
Dean looked at me, nonplussed._

_"Does it matter _at all_ where it's hiding?_

_"Well you would think it'd be somewhere with a lot of people, you know, near town, or even round the 'burbs...but no, it's in the industrial region. It's gotta be a long trip to find fresh victims. It's just curious."_

_"Yeah, big heap curious, now can we go kill this son of a bitch?"_

* * *

"Dean, you're going to be okay, just hang on."

I pulled the old, mouldering "_Booke of Ghouls"_ from my bag, and began flipping through it.

I'd found it a few weeks ago in a crappy little junk bookshop just off the highway, and it turned out to be kinda...perfect. Everything was in here, in detail, from azrai to zombies to, well, everything else. I didn't know how old it was, but it was written in a spidery cursive with f-shaped letters for 's'.

But there was only a half-page on Nightmares.

I'd read it a couple times before we had started the job, because it bothered me that everything I'd ever heard of was documented here is seemingly accurate detail, along with how to's on killing and protection, but there was just this on Nightmares;

"The mare is a creature of shadows, wary be the traveller who passes before the gaze of the spirit, for they are marked and remembered to it, cursed for eternity to the perils of the dreaming world.

The mare goes without body or bones, and cannot be killed but only trapped in time."

I looked up from the cryptic yellowed pages of the book to meet Dean's eyes, trained on me as I bit my lip.

"Does it say anything helpful?" He was putting a brave face on, but I knew how Dean felt about this kind of thing; he couldn't stay calm when he wasn't in control.

"Uh...not so much, it's kind of...old...and...uh. But I'll figure something out, okay?"

Dean pulled a face.

"Hey, wait..." he slowly began to move his arm. It came up as though he was in treacle, but he was moving.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Look at that! And I needed that arm, too!"

I screwed my eyes up, grimacing-but-grinning. Always insinuating, that was my brother.

"You're a real charmer, Dean. I'll save the applause for when you get your lazy ass up."

* * *

Back at the crummy motel we'd found, I found myself watching Dean as he made a sandwich.

He turned and caught me staring.

"Sam, how many damn times do I have to tell you? I'm fine. _Really_."

I wanted to tell him he wasn't fine, he had only barely recovered from complete paralysis, but he looked so exasperated that I left it there.

Dean ate his sandwich with relish while I re-read the passage on Nightmares.

"There's not going to be anything new if you read that again. We're going to have to trial and error this one."

I sighed, passing a hand over my forehead.

"Yeah I know, I just want this to make sense to me. It's gotta mean something; like here, it says the Nightmare has to be 'trapped in time'."

"What, frozen, looped? Do we know of anything like that?"

"No, and that's what I've been telling you for the past couple hours, I don't know what it means."

"Hey, don't go all panty-bunch, take it easy."

"I'm going to go get coffee, I'll see you soon." I got up from the table, grabbed the keys to the Impala and left before Dean could protest.

I needed a little space from the looping time trap we seemed to be falling into.

The waitress was cute, brunette and petite.

I couldn't help but think that if Dean was here he'd be hitting on her so hard she'd be comatose by now.

As it stood, I took my coffee and sat down at a far corner table, barely smiling back at her as she handed me the caffeinated beverage.

Finally, a place to read the damned book again in peace.

I began thumbing through to the passage on Nightmares, but it fell open on the right page.

I knew it off by heart by now, but it helped to look at it anyway.

Along with the book I had brought a notebook and pen with me, in case inspiration struck, and now I began to jot down whatever came to mind.

_Not corporeal...not a ghost 'cause no body/bones...where is it from? German? Orig. Look can kill? Or marking? Perils of dreaming world real; vis-a-vis Freddy Kreuger? Trapped in time...Trapped. Trapped in prison, time...Trapped in time..._

I screwed up the messy scrawled piece of paper. This was giving me nothing but a headache.

Sighing, I left the table and headed back to the car.

It was high time to check on Dean.

The door was still unlocked from when I'd left; which was not unusual, but still troubled me.

"Dean, you up?"

I spotted a Dean-shaped, blanketed lump on the couch.

Sleeping, that was probably good, god knew we were both exhausted.

But I still had the creeping suspicion that "marked" portended difficulty, especially if Dean's waking sleep paralysis was a symptom of the Nightmare's curse.

He didn't seem distressed, so I left him to sleep.

* * *

_Running, not towards but away, _away_, because she was coming for him. It was so dark, and he seemed to trip over every branch in the forest._

_Suddenly even the moonlight was gone, and Dean was plunged into pitch blackness. He tried to call out, but no noise came from his throat._

_His heart raced, and then he heard her._

_"Dean, there's nothing to be afraid of...I'm here."_

_A cold, dripping hand reached from the dark to stroke his face._

_"You shouldn't have abandoned me, you know." Suddenly the disembodied figure was illuminated, as it burst into flame. The hand pressed against Dean's cheek began to burn, tearing through his flesh._

_"Aren't family supposed to stick together?" The voice which spoke through years was so angry, so frightening, that Dean tried to scream, scream his lungs out, but there was nothing, he was trapped, alone, and terrified._

I glanced over at Dean, spread across the couch, his mouth slightly ajar.

Satisfied, I went back to my computer. I was no further now in deciphering that old passage than I had been over four hours ago, so I had returned to the internet, the most reliable source of information on the planet. There was plenty of mythology about the Nightmare, but I hadn't seen any word on how to kill this thing.

Dean was sleeping peacefully, and I was ready to face-plant on my laptop's keyboard, so I climbed under the covers and went to sleep about 30 seconds later.

* * *

_"Did I ever tell you that Sam was always my favourite?"_

_Dean struggled against the vice grip on his throat, his mother's voice a hiss in his ear._

**_No, not mom, it's not mom-_**

_"You were a bad, bad child, and you've grown into a bad man."_

**She's not real, it's a dream, wake up Dean WAKE UP-**

_Dean fought for air, his lungs burning, his heart aching._

_ "But then, your father can't have been a very good role model."_

_Abruptly the hand stopping his air was gone._

**_That' right, concentrate, she can't hurt you, you can control her, she's just a dream-_**

_"Your father deserves to die for what he's turned you into."_

_Dean tried to reach for his neck, to rub the bruised flesh, and found he couldn't. Once again, he was paralysed._

_The fear which had been threatening to take control of him began to grow._

_He looked at the shadowy figure moving away from him, as it reached up and pulled something...a light-switch._

_They were in a basement now. Dean was lying on the floor, his head turned uncomfortably to the side. Then he saw the third person in the room._

_Dad?_

_His father was in front of him, on his knees, looking like he'd gone ten rounds with Muhammad Ali._

_The fact that this was a dream no longer mattered._

_"Your father was useless. He _let_ me die."_

_Dean looked to his mother, Mary, her back toward him. When she turned, he felt a tear prick his eye._

_She looked the same, exactly the same. Except for her eyes. They were...different. Cruel._

_"You and your father, you're bad. You deserve to die. You're pure evil. And everything you touch will die, just like me. And your father. And Sam."_

_And then Sam was there, unconscious on the floor, and bleeding._

_Dean lay helplessly, willing this to be over. It couldn't be real...could it?_

_"This is real, Dean. We're here, and I'm going to kill your father, and Sam... everyone you've ever loved."_

_Dean tried to close his eyes and found he couldn't._

_"No, you won't get out that easy. See, they can't see you. They can just see me."_

_And suddenly she was him, she had his face, and body, his clothes..._

_Sam blinked awake, rubbing his eyes. He looked up at Mary/other Dean, a confused look on his face._

_"Dean? What happened?"_

_Their mother gave real Dean a big, cheesy grin, and pulled out a knife._

_"Hey little brother, time to die!"_

* * *

I woke up at about 3 o'clock, hungry. I realised I hadn't eaten since the morning before, so I went to the fridge and assembled a plate of various substances.

I sat on my bed, eating it and absently watching Dean sleep.

He looked so young and carefree; it made me wish he could have been a kid, properly, at least for a little while.

I guess neither of us got a traditional American upbringing.

When Dean, dad and I spent time together, it was never baseball at the park.

More like practise at the firing range.

The food was going down like bricks this late. I could feel the sleeplessness eating into me.

How long had it been since I'd slept, properly?

* * *

**_NONONONONO! Please stop please please I can't please-_**

"Bye-bye Sammy. See you in hell."

_The other Dean had that same dumb grin on his face as he pushed Sam's body to the ground._

_Dean sobbed silently as he stared at Sam's empty eyes._

_"Hey daddy, miss me? We're going to have a reunion, with all the demons we ever sent down. I hear there'll be a bonfire."_

_Once Mary was finished with their father, he turned to real Dean, morphing back into his mother._

_"I wanted you to see that; that right before they died, they knew what you are. I was so young when I was killed. So young, and so unhappy. Do you realise what it was like with you? I hated you all. It should have been you that died, not me. The world would have been better for it."_

_Mary knelt beside Dean, her thin white dress, now splattered in blood, floating out ethereally around her knees._

_"You did this."_

_Dean felt his heart wrench at her words. They hurt more than she could ever know, because he had always felt like he was to blame, somehow. Even though he had been a kid; it was always a burden he carried._

_"This isn't a dream, Dean. This is real. I've come back, you know it can happen. Your father is dead. Your brother is dead. I'm dead. You're all alone. Look what you did to me."_

_And they were in their old house in Kansas; Dean lay on the bed, and his mother was pulled to the roof, bleeding, bursting into flame._

_"__**Look what you did**__!"_

* * *

I went back to bed and slept fitfully for the next few hours. I didn't dream.

At 7 o'clock I went out for some caffeine.

Dean's coffee was stone cold by the time he woke up.

"Sammy?"

He jolted awake, saying my name before he even opened his eyes.

"Hey, you don't look so hot, what's up?"

He was white as a sheet, (well, not these particular sheets, they had a distinct greenish-yellow tinge I didn't entirely trust), except for a red mark on his face, probably from the position he'd slept in, with his cheek against the couch, and there was a sheen of sweat coating his face. Actually, he looked like he'd been swimming.

Dean didn't answer, just regarded me anxiously.

Normally he would have made a crack about the 'hot' comment, even first thing in the morning. Not so now.

Which made me instantly concerned.

"Did you dream?" I asked.

Dean looked at me like I had just pulled a handkerchief out of my ear.

"No. No, I didn't." His voice was oddly rough and strained.

He was clearly lying.

"Dean, tell me what's up. You seemed to be sleeping just fine—I mean, I checked on you from time to time. You were sleeping like a baby. What happened? Wait—what's that on your neck?"

The alarm was clear in my voice, and Dean and I both heard it.

My brother's hand shot up, pressing the dark black and blue bruised skin there.

He winced.  
"Dean, what did you dream about?"

* * *

Phew, that's what I got so far...I think I got too involved in this: popcorn and coffee for tea.

More coming soon, thanks for reviews and stuff! :)


	3. Well, That's Reassuring

Cause life is just a dream here.  
You know inside you feel right at home, here.  
Welcome to my breakdown  
Yeah welcome to my nightmare

"Really, it's nothing Sam. I don't even remember."

"This isn't one of those stories you hear about self-inflicted injuries while you're asleep. This is serious, Dean. This is different."

"Well I don't remember anything."

God, what was the point? I needed to know what was going on if I was meant to help him!

"Dean, I'm not kidding. Tell me what happened or you're out."

Dean cocked his head to one side. "Uh...what?"

"You're out. No hunt, you get to hang out in here until this whole thing blows over. Until it's done."

"And what makes you think you're going to stop me from coming?"

I lifted an eyebrow. "Have you seen yourself lately? I don't think you could take on a skunk, let alone a powerful dream-demon."

Dean shrugged, frowned, and scoffed, almost simultaneously. "I can deal. Lemme at him. Freddy Krueger never scared me, and neither does this asshole. Bring it on!"

"I don't care if you're scared or not, that's not the point. The point is you tell me what you dreamed about or you're out."

Dean sighed loudly. "There was someone chasing me, and then they did a little strangling. That's all."

If that was all, why didn't he come out with it right away?

"What aren't you telling me, man?"

I could read my brother fairly well by now. His expression now told me he'd been caught out, with something significant.

"Okay, from what I can tell this thing shows you your worst nightmare, vivid as hell. And anything that happens to you in your dreams happens in real life. Those people that died, of heart attacks or...injuries...they probably either frightened to death, or what happened to them in their dreams killed 'em."

I nodded, watching Dean's tight facial contractions as he spoke. He'd seen his worst nightmare come true. For your average Joe that could be bad, but in our line of work we saw some pretty crazy shit.

"I'm sorry, man. We just gotta sort this out before anything bad happens."

"At least there weren't any clowns in my nightmare." The corner of Dean's mouth twitched up as he spoke.

"Oh, haha. Clowns are scary. Just are. What did you see, a bunch of hot girls who weren't into you?"

Dean swallowed hard. "Mmmhm."

* * *

We went out to a diner nearby for burgers. Dean ate his like it was a chore.

Something was wrong, really wrong. I couldn't help but be curious about what he'd seen.

"So we'll head to the hospital soon, see if we can't find any poor hag-ridden bastards and you haven't heard a word I've said, have you, Dean?"

My brother was staring off into space, thinking hard on something.

"Dean?" I snapped my fingers in front of his face.

"Whu...what?"  
If I hadn't been concerned about him checking out, his expression would have amused me.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I break your concentration?"

Dean grinned suddenly. "My man Samuel L!"

It was a relief to hear him make a normal Dean comment.

"So we'll head to the hospital, yeah?"

"Yup, check it out, find what we can find, do the job, get paid."

He was back on auto-pilot, it seemed. Thinking about something he wouldn't explain to me.

"Dean, are you here? You said you could deal, so...can you?"

He shook himself imperceptibly. "'m here. Okay, so this thing knocked me out, paralysed me, and now it's gonna keep coming. That's how it works."

"Yeah, looks like once it's got its foot in the door, it's stuck on you."

My brother drew his eyebrows together, biting on his lower lip hard enough that he was almost drawing blood.

"Hey, we'll fix this, 'kay? Just...try to stay awake."

Dean looked up at me sharply, his fixed, staring eyes still betraying him.

I hated it when he kept secrets.

* * *

"I'm agent Keith, this is agent Moon, we need to ask you a couple questions."

The patient, a woman who couldn't have been older than twenty five, was tucked into her hospital bed with the sheets pulled up tightly under her chin, and deep dark circles under her eyes, didn't look at either of us. She was watching something on the muted tv at the end of her bed.

"Uh, okay...so you say you dreamed that something attacked you, and then you woke up with bruising in the places you were hurt in the dream, right?"

The girl didn't reply, or even acknowledge us.

"Okay...I'll take that as a yes. Um..." I found Dean's eyes, searching for some help; annoyingly, my brother was doing the middle-distance staring thing again.  
"Dean?"

He cleared his throat, blinking. "Uh, so...um. So you told the police that you had been attacked, and then you woke up paralysed, and...now all this?"

It was like we were invisible. And mute. And...non-existant.

And then her voice came out, hoarse and feeble and for some reason it made my spine crawl, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"You can't help me. Nobody can help me. I'll just die. I'll die and that'll be all. And then I won't dream anymore."

Her eyes remained fixed to the television screen, where Jimmy Stewart was experiencing life without him in it.

"Listen, we think something's going on here...something not quite...normal."

I knew the words were wrong when they came out.

"Normal? I haven't slept in two weeks, do you think that's normal? Because every time I close my eyes _he's_ there, ready to kill me. Normal?" She was looking at me now, and her face was thin with exhaustion and anger.

"Well, we're here to help. See, we believe you. We know something's out there, something bad. And we're going to stop it."

She turned her glare to Dean, but after gazing into his eyes for a moment, she deflated.

"It's after you, too. You're so screwed."

Dean blinked hard and set his jaw, as though he'd just been punched.

"I'm not going to let it get me."

"If you really think that's true, you're just stupid."

She returned her focus to the tv, shutting us out.

* * *

My big brother turned to me, his face a mask, and we left.


	4. The Devil You Know

Dean whumpage ensues...and Sam is confused.

Please review, it'd make my day!

* * *

Welcome to my nightmare

I think you're gonna like it

I think you're gonna feel you belong

* * *

_He was taking a real beating. And he was all alone._

_Ghosts, ghosts of everyone he had ever wronged, coming out one by one from a queue, lined up to pay him back for his failures._

_"You weren't in time to save me," "you should have looked harder," "I was screaming and you didn't hear me," "you're useless," on and on and on, an endless mass, and they'd tell him how he wronged them, and then they would hurt him._

_And then it was Jessica. "Dean, me and Sam, we were happy. Why'd you have to ruin it? I wouldn't have died if Sammy had been there for me." _

_Tears began to well from her eyes, and Dean was suddenly sick to his stomach._

_"Oh Dean, we were so happy. Sam was happy, and you took that from him."_

_Jessica didn't hurt him, not physically. She just stood looking at him sadly, until he hung his head, unable to meet her gaze, ashamed and helpless._

_And alone._

* * *

Dean jolted awake at the sound of my frantic voice calling his name, pale and shaking.

He gasped a little as he sat up, his hands jerking up automatically to protect his face.

"What happened this time?"

"Got beat up by some angry ghosts." He winced, his mouth a tight line.

"If your face is anything to go by, I'd say that's an understatement."

I rested a hand on my big brothers' shoulder, frowning.

He looked bad, beat-up, exhausted.

"You okay? You know you can talk to me, right?"

"What'd you do, watch _Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants_ and decide we need some more sharing and caring? I'm fine. You're such a girl," he said, shrugging my hand off, and gingerly fingering his cut lip.

I'd gone out to check the local library, hoping to find something in the history of this place relating to the nightmare. What I'd found was not good, and to top it off, when I'd got back Dean was slumped on the couch, sleeping. I didn't know how he'd dropped off, with what happened when he _did_ sleep.

He sure looked like crap.

* * *

_It was Sammy, but it wasn't._

_"The visions, Dean. They led onto...well...everything else."_

_Dean was chained to the floor hand and foot, struggling, as the Sam-like thing caressed each object on the tray before him lovingly._

_"Sam," Dean began, and stopped, shocked, to hear his own voice._

_"Oh, I'm not Sam. I'm quite different."_

_Yeah, for one his eyes were completely black, just like all the demons' they hunted._

_"Sam, what are you doing?" Dean's head was full of cotton wool. Why could he talk now? In his nightmares he couldn't. Did that mean that this was..._

_ "You should have done something about the visions, Dean. Anything. You were too stupid to see the truth."_

_"The truth?"_

_"That I was different. That I could do things nobody else could. And now...well, now I'm capable of so much more."_

_With that, Dean felt his ribs begin to tighten._

_"What...what are you doing?" he grunted, placing a hand to his stomach._

**_Oh Dean, you're so freakin' screwed. _**

_Sam grinned, and as he did, Dean's ribs actually began to buckle, a few of them cracking._

_He couldn't help his sudden breathless gasp._

_"Sam...please! Don't do this!"_

_"Why not? You couldn't save me from this," he said, pointing to his eyes," why should I spare you? Besides, it's liberating to be so...powerful. Do you realise how good it feels not to...well, not to feel?"_

_Dean felt a harsh, guttural sound tear out of his throat as he clutched his sides._

_"What...what do...you want?" He stuttered out, between grunts._

_The thing that was Sam narrowed its eyes._

_"I want you to suffer like I did, before the end. Before this. You couldn't save me, not ever. Not from anything. How many times did I get hurt while you were 'protecting' me, huh? Now I'm returning the favor." _

_Dean doubled over, his face grey, as nubs of bone began to twist, and turn, and force their way, devastatingly slowly, through his abdomen. _

_He almost screamed then, but stopped himself by biting his lip 'till it bled. He wouldn't give the nightmare the satisfaction_

_"Oh, big tough guy, you can take anything, right?" Demon Sam said, kneeling before Dean._

_He pulled the small, wheeled table over to them, and the tray along with it._

_On the shiny metal rested assorted objects; scissors, pliers, knives, steel wire...none of them friendly._

_Sam gripped Dean's jaw, forcing his face upwards harshly._

_His gaze was hazy through the pain, and he struggled to focus on Sam's face._

_"You've got to stay awake. Fun's a-coming."_

_Dean felt the anguish, pure and unadulterated, welling up inside him. It wasn't the thought of further pain that frightened him, but the fact that Sam was gone and it was his fault.  
"Sammy, please just come back..."_

_"It's your fault Dean. At least take your punishment like a man."_

* * *

I leafed through another newspaper from the 70s, and sure enough, another string of reported murders and heart attacks fitting the pattern. A set of 12 in a space of six months, every six years, for the last eight decades.

Here, now, there had been eight cases in four months, including the girl form the hospital and my own brother.

God, I felt helpless.

It had been two nights since he had last slept, and here I was, helpful Sam; bored, and fresh out of useful ideas.

* * *

_He squeezed his eyes tight, the pain swelling to the point that he gagged._

**_Please don't let this be real, please, please. Where are you, Sammy? Wake me up._**

* * *

Dean was in the other room, watching some crappy romantic hospital drama. Seriously, he'd call me a girl for showing concern when something really bad was going on, but him watching that stuff wasn't even slightly un-macho?

Actually, he hadn't called out plot lines to me for a while. And there were still two beers in the fridge form the six-pack he'd bought earlier.

I leaped to my feet, heart fluttering.

* * *

_Dean gasped for air, dropping to his hands and knees as demon Sam put the bloodied wire away._

_"You know, I though you'd have more fight in you that this, man." The demon spoke with a whining tone, much like Sammy's voice when Dean wouldn't carry him home (to whatever motel they were staying at), after school, when they were kids._

_"Well, I'm sorry...it's been a...rough couple days, " Dean choked out, hunching over so his manacled hand could reach up to massage his throat. "So why don't you go...screw yourself and...we'll call it a night."_

_The demon made a kind of hissing laugh. "That's better."_

* * *

"Dean?"

He lay flat on his bed, eyes closed.

Not again.

I rushed over to him, shaking him roughly.

The TV was on full volume, infomercials now. I hadn't even noticed how much time had passed since now and when I'd left Dean alone.

"Hey, man, freaking wake up!"

He didn't even stir.

There was a sound, like a snapping branch, and I felt my blood run cold. That's the same sound a breaking bone makes.

I turned him over, steeled myself, and slapped him, hard, on the cheek.

With that he shuddered into life, hitting out against me blindly, and actually landing a solid punch on my jaw.

Rubbing it, I grabbed his shoulder, using his grogginess against him.

"No, please! No more!"

Dean's voice was panicked, broken, more like a whimper, and he still struggled against me.

I sat behind him and held on to his arms as he trembled and flailed.

"Dean, shh, it's okay, I'm here."

I put my hand on his forehead, noticing the feverish heat and sticky dampness there.

"Sammy?" He wasn't fighting anymore, but he sounded quiet, and...vulnerable. I wasn't used to it.

"Yeah, I'm here, man."

He flinched away, suddenly, turned wildly to stare me in the eyes.

"Oh God, Dean." I felt the blood drain from my face as I saw the extent of his injuries for the first time. He was soaked in blood, and there was something distinctly wrong with his ribs; I guessed at least one was broken, from the sound earlier.

"It's you," he said, sagging, relieved.

"Dean, you need a hospital."

He shook his head solemnly, childlike, his eyes round and plaintive.

"No, Sammy," he gasped. He _sounded_ like a kid.

"Jesus, Dean. This just isn't working, look at you."

The man looked like he was about to cry. He leaned against the wall at the bed's head, his face screwed up, panting like a kicked dog.

I had no freaking idea what to do...this was my brother, Dean, tough as coffin nails, the guy who had a plan, who was sure of what to do, who always rescued me and...well, everyone else. And here he was, whimpering...and terrified...what was I supposed to do!?

"If you're not going to the hospital, I'm going to get some things. We don't even have plasters anymore."

Dean's eyes flew open at that, and he reached out, gripping my arm so tightly it hurt.  
"No! Sammy, what if I fall asleep?"

"God, Dean, let up a little!"

His face fell and he let go, drawing his breath in wheezily.

"Sorry, man." I came round to the other side of the bed, and sat next to him.

He didn't call me gay, or move away, so I put an arm around him.

To my surprise, he let me.

"Dean, you're in bad shape. You either need a hospital, or I'll patch you up as best I can." Which, incidentally, I wasn't at all prepared for.

Dean cleared his throat. "I know I said I wasn't before...but I am."

"_You are_ what?"

He looked at the floor, embarrassed. "I'm scared," he whispered, so quiet I almost couldn't hear.

It was at that moment when I realised, properly, that whatever we were after had actually frightened my brother. The thought was so strange; it sat in my head like too much oatmeal sat in your stomach; heavy...and expanding.

"I'm scared too."

* * *

Dean had insisted on coming with me to the hospital.

Exasperatingly, he wasn't planning on checking in.

Getting out of the motel had been hard enough, so I insisted that if he wouldn't be seen by trained professionals, he had to stay in the car. He'd changed, but not showered, and there was no chance he wouldn't be rushed to the ER if he was seen.

"Okay, you'll be fine, man, stay here."

Dean didn't answer, just chewed his lip and nodded.

I nodded back, sure that my worry had leaked out onto my face.

I shut the Impala's door with a bang, and Dean jumped, wincing.

Ribs were always dangerous.

The hospital run was easy enough; I managed to snag a uniform to go with my badge; I was _Dr Stoner, GP, HIV_, _CSI, SMD_ (a Dean "joke", I supposed). I really should have checked it before I brought it in.

He had a badge that read "Dick Coppafeel, GYN", but I'd never seen him use it...I guess I wouldn't put it past him.

I got back to the car with the supplies to find Dean wheezing for air, arching his back to prevent his abused ribs getting too close to his vital organs.

Noticing the sweat dripping down Dean's forehead, I opened the passenger door and knelt to speak to him.  
"Dean, we're here already, let's just go in quick, and—"

"No." His hazel eyes snapped open, bright and sharp with pain. "They always ask questions. I'll be okay, Sammy."

I hated the sawing of his breath. It didn't sound right, not by a long shot.

"If you get worse, even a fraction worse, we're coming back."

Dean clenched his jaw, made a thick noise, nodded.

I got in the car and drove, feeling like a complete ass for being unable to convince my injured brother to get the help he desperately needed.

* * *

Dean's not having fun, poor guy... hope you guys like this so far, it's becoming so addictive...

More to come soon, I'm proper bored and engrossed in the plot (which is probably horribly thin and fraught with errors)

I realise I'm a little "..." happy, but I...can't...help...myself.


	5. Trust me, I'm a

You know inside you feel right at home here

Welcome to my breakdown

You're welcome to my nightmare

* * *

I had intended on staying up all night with my brother, but I found myself startled from a light sleep on the couch by low noises.

I blinked, my eyes straining in the gloom.

Dean was awake, luckily, but unluckily his ribs seemed to be giving him hell.

I got up, almost tripped on the matted sheet wrapped around my feet, and crossed the room to my brother's side.

"Dean?" He didn't reply, just looked up at me for a moment, his eyes huge and watering, making quiet gasps, his breath hitching.

I put a hand to his sweaty forehead, hissing a breath in through my teeth as I felt the heat radiating off him.

The Vicodin seemed to have been ineffectual, same as the antibiotics I'd given him.

"Dean. Hospital.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut tightly, tears sheeting down his face, dampening the collar of his shirt.

My stomach lurched as I wondered how long he'd been lying there, whimpering, in so much pain, before I woke up. It really pissed me off that Dad had instilled such a false sense of what constituted strength in Dean; showing any kind of emotion, fear or pain, was wussy, and had to be avoided.

Just another twisted thing about how Dad had raised us.

"Dean, y'have to help me, here."

The fact that he hadn't protested the hospital wasn't good; he hated hospitals, or rather, being a patient.

I put a hand on Dean's shoulder, and he gasped.  
"Shit." How bad was he hurt?

Not wanting to waste much time taking Dean to the hospital, but needing to know what kind of damage had been done to him, I turned on the light and gently peeled off his shirt.

Below, the grey t-shirt he'd changed into was streaky with sweat and blood.

His upper arm had multiple scrapes, gashes and small cuts adorning it, much like the rest of his visible skin, and presumably his shoulder. Dammit, why couldn't he tell me when he was this screwed up?

"Dean, I've gotta take a look at your ribs."

He opened one unfocused eye, half-grinned, half-grimaced, mumbled; "any excuse to get my shirt off," and passed out.

I shook my head, blinking.

"Oh, God."

After managing to rouse Dean back to consciousness, I felt a sick twist of actual sympathetic physical pain in my gut on regarding Dean's terribly abused body.

If his cracked and broken ribs had been the only problem, it would have been serious; bulges of bone protruded from his abdomen here and there, the skin around them was discolored deep purple; every breath must have been torture.

To go along with that, the skin all over his chest and stomach was bruised blue and yellow, adorned with fresh abrasions of various depths and sizes. There was more damaged skin than whole.

Dean breathed raggedly, eyes closed, fighting his body's will to lose consciousness again.

"Hold on, Dean. I'm going to call an ambulance."

He put up a weak hand; "Sammy—nnn—", his words giving way to a hitching, gutteral groan.

I passed a hand slowly and heavily across my forehead and down my face.

"Jesus, Dean. I don't know how I could have been stupid enough to take your word for it that you're okay. God, what an idiot."

Dean shook his head, a grey tinge to his face.

"G'na thr'w 'p."

Tripping over my feet in my rush, I dragged the trash can in the small kitchenette and shoved it next to the bed.

Dean looked at me groggily. "Little h'lp..."

I grabbed one arm gently as he pushed himself upright.

He sat for a moment, huffing.

"Are you okay? Should I take the bin aw—"

With that my big brother spewed. He didn't do things by half, did Dean, and this was no exception; sure, some landed in the bin, but a lot went on the floor. And on him. And on me.

"Shit!"

Dean leaned over, his aim improving as he managed to keep most of what came out of his mouth off of us and the bed.

"B'throom."

I put an arm around my brother, helping him to his feet. Ducking awkwardly due to our height difference, I half-dragged...well, almost all-dragged my brother to the tiny bathroom.

He clenched his jaw so tightly I was worried he might pull a muscle.

As soon as I got him in he pushed himself over to the toilet, his head the only part of his body seemingly interested in moving him.

He dropped to the ground, and hurled in the toilet.

"Dean, I—"

"Sammy, I know you...get bored easy," he panted, "but I prefer not to have an audience...when I'm puking...my...guts up."

I shook my head. There was hope for him yet.

* * *

For the next quarter hour the only noise in the motel suite was the melody of my brother alternately gagging, hurling and coughing, interspersed with moments of quiet panting.

When all seemed to be over, I went to the bathroom door. Dean was splayed on the cold floor, his head pressed against the cool ceramic base of the bath, his body wrapped around the toilet.

"Dean, are you...?"

Dean groaned. "Alive? No."

I nodded. "Can I please just take you to the hospital?"

Dean managed to rouse himself to attention. "Nuh-uh. Be okay. Feeling great."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a stubborn jackass?"

"Has anyone ever told _you_ you have girl's hair?"

I couldn't help but grin. He was going to be fine.

* * *

"Shit! This whole time I've been looking in the wrong place!"

I leaped from my seat at the table and went for my duffel bag, ripping the contents from it and coming up with the _Booke of Ghosts_.

I read the passage aloud to Dean, who was curled up around a pillow on the bed;

"The mare is a creature of shadows, wary be the traveler who passes before the gaze of the spirit, for they are marked and remembered to it, cursed for eternity to the perils of the dreaming world.

The mare goes without body or bones, and cannot be killed but only trapped in time."

Dean was nonplussed. "So?"

"So it's already trapped in time!"

He looked up at me, watery-eyed.

We were both less pukey; I'd showered, then cleaned Dean up with a couple towels, and dressed his wounds as best I could with the hospital gear. He was currently doped up on the good stuff.

"Okay, so for the last eighty years, there have been 12 heart attacks and supposed murders every six 're up to 8 deaths in four months, four to go."

Dean huffed a little annoyed breath.

"Dean, someone's been here before. They've stopped it killing when it wants to; it can only kill twelve victims a year now. Before the pattern started, the death toll was crazy...now it's manageable. So someone was here before us."

"We still need to end this thing, Sammy."

I nodded. "Yeah, but at least now we know that there's some way to stop this thing."

"Yeah, but we still don't—"

"Just go with me on this."

* * *

This is a little on the short side, but I've been drawing ALL weekend and just haven't had time guuuh life why you exist...

There is an end in sight, 1-2 chapters should do it! I intend on posting it all as one piece as well, 'cause the chapters thang can get kinda old...

Hope you like and as usual PLEASE REVIEWWWW it'll make my day!


	6. My Achy Breaky Heart

Thank you wonderful, beautiful reviewers, aiding and abetting my strangeness *hugs*!

This is on the short side, but the next chapter will be longer, promise!

Please please PLEASE keep reviewing, it is my motivation!

A side of Wee!Chester in this one.

Oh, and feel free to leave constructive criticism, especially if you think I'm not doing justice to my boys!

Peace out, dudes and dudettes

The lyrics are now from Nightmare by Avenged Sevenfold...

And I don't own anything here, except the order the words are in, and maybe the nightmare storyline...

This might be soppy, I don't know, but if I was Dean I'd be pretty messed up, right?

* * *

Now your nightmare comes to life.

Dragged you down below  
Down to the devils show  
To be his guest forever  
Peace of mind is less than never

* * *

I sat with my eyes closed, thinking hard. Everything was distracting me; from my brothers' wheezing behind me on the bed; to the cheap clock ticking away an hour behind schedule in the kitchen.

"Okay, Dean," I said, talking to him just to externalize my thoughts, "somebody knows something. Somebody knows what to do, they just couldn't finish the job. Why not?"

He made a non-committal noise, and I continued; "They either died, or they're around…somewhere. Did the…whatever they did…did it go wrong?"

I took my hand away from my eyes, shaking my head, trying to dislodge any thoughts that might be hiding in the recesses of my sluggish brain.

"Well, maybe we can find whoever it was that started to get this thing dead. That, or just sit around until I fall asleep and you, dad and mom finish—"

"What?" I jerked myself to attention.

Dean gave me a startled look as he realized I was actually paying attention.

"What, Dean; me, dad and mom can finish what?"

"Nothing, forget it. So we find the guy—"

I cut him off. "Dean, what aren't you telling me? You dreamed about mom, didn't you?"

And just like that all his walls were up. "No, Freud, I didn't. I just meant that you—and Dad—will freak out about this."

_Wow, that was convincing._

I looked at him unblinkingly. "And mom?"

My big brother looked away, looked past me, maybe even past the claustrophobic room we were in.

"Sammy, mom's dead."

I swallowed hard. "What did she do?" Exasperated, "Dean, you can't keep these things to yourself. I can help you deal with this."

Dean stared at me, through me, chewing his lip. "No, you can't. I just have to stay awake."

"Freaking hell, Dean! If it were me, you would want to know!" It was pissing me off almost unreasonably that he wouldn't let me in. He was entitled to his privacy—no, not when he was in danger like this. His privacy could go screw itself.

I got up from the tiny kitchen table and sat next to Dean on the bed. The shift in weight pushed him to shift on the bed, and he winced infinitesimally.

"Dean."

"No, Sammy. Don't try the puppy-dog eyes, they won't work."

Nevertheless I kept my eyes trained on Dean, tightening my jaw, as though I was about to burst into tears.

"Sammy, don't. Just don't."

I tried to keep the look of smug satisfaction out of my expression. It was over.

Dean sighed raspingly. "One day soon you'll try that and I'll just slap you right in your smug little face."

The corner of my mouth tugged up, and I pretended to grimace, hiding it.

And then his face was serious, dead serious.

"I dreamed…mom was back. But Sammy…God, she came back so wrong."

He looked so…fragile. My brother. Fragile. I frowned, a full-face frown.

"What…what happened?" My voice sounded hoarse.

"Oh, you know."

"No, I _really_ don't."

Dean tilted his head on one side, pouting unconsciously, looking for all the world like a kid pushing for a later bedtime. Dean and I, we'd never had a bedtime. Well, I had, sorta; Dean would make me go to bed at least an hour before him, even when he was exhausted from a hunt and went to sleep before the sun was low in the sky. God, it must have been hard for him. I couldn't comprehend looking after another person like Dean had for me. Not Dad, Dean.

"What happened?"

"She wasn't right, and she said…she said…"

To my surprise and…horror, I guess, a single tear rolled languidly down Dean's cheek.

_What?_

The last time I saw my brother cry, he had stuffed up, or rather Dad decided he had; there was something bad, something supernatural, I don't remember what, but…it came after me, and Dean was meant to stop it, and he couldn't…it was so long ago, just a blur…Dad had been white with rage. He hadn't hit Dean, or even yelled, really, he's just said; "_if you can't protect Sammy, you shouldn't be here,_" and Dean had hitched a sob, dropped a few tears, and left. He must have felt bad enough, with the pressure that was on him to be _everything_, my parents and babysitter and big brother and provider and protector and...everything Dad wouldn't or couldn't be.

Anyway, he had come back a day later, just before we were going to check out of another cruddy motel, and apologised to Dad. _Apologised_ to the man. He couldn't have been more than ten or eleven. Dean had taken on every responsibility, every task that man had asked of him, and it was never enough. Just another reason I left; I couldn't watch my brother ruin his life, like I was meant to ruin mine. But nothing I could say would change his mind about that "great man".

"Dean." Yanked into the present by the sound of my brother sobbing, I tried to sound caring and assuring, but all that crept into my tone was uncertainty and sadness. I put a hand on his shoulder instead, wishing I could take some of the weight off his shoulders.

"Sammy, it was so awful. I can't think about it, I'll just…I'll just die."

I shushed him, sat next to him, tried to make it all okay, but it wasn't, not really. Maybe I didn't want to know what he had seen. It had broken him, almost imperceptibly at first. But now the cracks, all of them, they were showing. I never knew how close my brother was to breaking until now, as I sat with my arms around his battered body, as he sobbed silently into my shoulder, as he fought himself to stay awake, because when he slept it was too terrible to talk about.

* * *

Sometime later, as I felt my eyes drifting shut, my brother shuffled to the bathroom. I woke up, alert.

"Dean?"

"'m okay, Sammy."

I heard his ragged huffing for a couple seconds, and then he went quiet.

The bathroom door was open, so I ventured toward it.

He was kneeling by the toilet again, shaking and drawn. He'd stopped crying. No emotions to be shown at any cost, that was the Winchester way.

"Sam, I'm okay." He sighed, deeply, and his breath hardly caught. "Just…please...find out how to stop it."

I left him resting his head on the cool bath, staring at nothing. He was wide awake, I could tell.

There was nothing I could do for him now.

Except ruin the son of a bitch that had ripped my brother apart piece by bloody piece.


	7. Carry On My Wayward Son

Hate to twist your mind, but God ain't on your side

An old acquaintance severed,

Render of your last endeavor

Ashes burning, you can smell it in the air,

Cause men like you have such an easy soul to steal.

So stand in line while banging numbers in your head,

You're now a slave until the end of time

* * *

"Dean!"

My voice sounded as confident to him as it did to me, it seemed; my brother approached me in a rush, letting out a breath of relief. "You found something."

"So get this; one of the victims of the 20s spate of deaths, he was in a coma for six years, before dying of a heart attack."

"Well that's just brilliant. Please tell me that's not all you've got." The desperation was clear in his wavering tone.

"He was a hunter." I looked up at Dean then, raising my eyebrows as though to say, _gettit_?

He drew in a harsh breath. "He found something, to stop it. But why didn't it work?"

I shrugged. "You know, I think maybe it did."

Dean frowned.

"Just...hear me out. After this one guy, the pattern started. I think maybe he found a way to deal with the Nightmare, right? Let's just assume that's true. And for argument's sake, let's say he was only in that coma because he was...I don't know...fighting the dreams Freddy Krueger-style? "

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come on, Sam, this is not a film, this is _real life_."

"Yeah, we're fighting an evil creature that preys on people as they sleep, giving them horrific nightmares in which any injuries they get appear when they wake up...in _real life_."

I had a point and he knew it.

"So you think that's it, he just fought the nightmares?"

"Yeah. For years."

"And then what? He gave up?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't. But something changed after him; he was in a coma for six years, now the Nightmare can only attack every six years. He managed to change its MO."

"Wait..." my brother shook his head. "You said he was a hunter?"

"Yeah. I read up about him. He was Norman Hewitt, a "ghost seeker". But looks like the real deal. Back in those days there was more superstition about these things, and I guess he took advantage. Got paid, anyway. Got rich. Better deal than us, I guess." Dean just stared at me. "Until the coma and death thing."

My brother shivered. "So what you're saying is, I go all Nancy Thompson on this thing, right?"

I pulled a face. "Nancy Thompson?"

"Yeah, the chick from _Elm Street_. Oh, except I'll try not to get killed for the big finale. And I _what_? Face it? Tell it it's butt ugly?"

"Well, the first option, probably. The legend goes that the Nightmare sits on its victim's chest and confers bad dreams upon them. So Dean," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "get it off your chest."

"Haha." He shrugged me off. "So it's invisible?"

"Not exactly. When you're awake, it doesn't really...exist. Not tangibly, anyway. Now this guy, this hunter, I think he missed something. I think that he was fighting the nightmares, but he was missing the 'Nightmare'."

"Sam, please stop with this Freud crap. Just let me know what I need to do."

"Okay; what I'm trying to say is that this hunter didn't have me. He was fighting the dream aspect of this creature; but when it's actually causing the dreams, actually sitting there on your chest and screwing with you, it's invisible, but it's there, it's corporeal. And it's vulnerable."

"What you're telling me, in effect, is that I have to go to sleep, maybe get killed trying to get this thing dead? Or at best, go into a coma for a couple years?"

"No. I'm saying, you go in and go in fighting, and I'll smoke the bastard. Together, we might have a shot at ending this."

Dean looked up at me, his mouth a thin line.

"And this is the only way? Because '_might_' doesn't always cut it."

I nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think it is, Dean."

"This is the last damn time, Sammy."

* * *

I came looking for Dean a half hour later, after gathering the salt, silver, knives and holy water my brother and I'd collected early for the hunt.

He was in the bathroom, retching over the toilet.

"You good?"

He didn't turn, or answer, so I left him to it.

He emerged a while later, pale and shivering, tears still streaking his face, from throwing up, I assumed. Even if the tears were from an emotional cause, not a physical one, I doubted Dean would open up enough to tell me how he felt about all this. Anyway, I could assume he was freaking out; going to sleep again was about the last thing he wanted to do right now.

But that was my brother. Ready, or at least standing here, where so many others, where _I_ would falter.

"Dean, if we do this, we do it now. There'll be others like you soon. If you can, it needs to be now."

"I'm good. Let's do this."

* * *

So he lay on the bed.

And we waited.

And he couldn't get to sleep.

* * *

After all the _I'm-so-freaking-tired-Sammy_'s, the caffeine pills, the energy drinks, he was wired.

"Sammy? We got any sleeping pills?"

"I don't know if that would work. I think you have to fall asleep yourself, without...you know...artificial help?"

"Fine. So we just wait?"

"Yeah."

His voice came out muffled as he rolled over, face on the pillow. "I can't sleep," he whined, and I got a sudden shiver down my spine because I remembered so clearly saying that to Dean, years ago, Dad off on a hunt, just me and him, scared and _waiting_, _waiting_, always _waiting_, because Dad could be dead and then there'd be nothing, and Dean could look after us for a while but he was just a kid, and as much as he had been the world, been a hero, been infallible, even I knew he couldn't look after us, not really, because...because he was just a kid himself, just a kid playing grownups, convincingly, but playing nonetheless, and I couldn't sleep, and as silly as he must have felt dealing with pretending to be the man, and be in charge, he had sat up with me, and I'd leaned against him, and the fact that he was a kid too didn't matter because he was bigger and already putting on muscle and he wasn't an adult, but he could have fooled me, because he was warm and solid and _there_, _always_ there, and he pretended to be a dad, I pretended to be a son, we both pretended to know Dad would be okay, that _we'd _be okay, even if he wasn't. And I slept.

I found myself standing, as though to walk to the bed, and sat back down at the table, feeling foolish. The memory was so real. Solid.

Dean hadn't turned, didn't see me rise stupidly as though I could do for him now what he'd done for me when I was vulnerable. When I needed my brother.

He was too proud, and I was too...I don't know. But I couldn't be for him what he'd been for me.

I wasn't strong, or brave, or scared enough.

So we waited. Just like old times.

* * *

"'ammy?" His voice was thick with the exhaustion that sets in right before you go to sleep.

"Yeah?"

"'f I die, I'm...gonna haunt you."

"Dean, that's not funny." It wasn't, not even a little; not judging by the odd burning in my eyes, my throat, my heart. Not at all.

"Mmmm. S'rry"

* * *

"Dean?" I whispered, in case he really was asleep. He didn't reply.

I crept closer, as quietly as I could manage.

His eyes were shut tight. That same expression of innocence and security, like he'd _never, _ever got to wear in reality, was back on his face. I knew better than to trust that image. Dean was fighting for his life, all the while looking like a sleepy child. And I just had to wait, knowing that.

Wait for it to appear. And the moment it did, well. Dean would be able to sleep easy.

* * *

Hope you're still with me, hope that wasn't too sappy, but considering all I want to write right now is; _Sammy put a hand on Dean's shoulder, and they shared a moment of mutual respect and adoration, Dean pulling his brother into a hug, and in that moment, the world was a happy place_, _and there were rainbows_, I think it's restrained, right?

REVIEWWWW! Thank you to everyone who has, and to any future reviews, just remember, every review is a hug, kiss and pillow-fluff for hurt!Dean, people!

*sob* I think my first ever fanfic is almost at an end...maybe just another chapter and an epilogue, hopefully I can write them quicky...I don't like cliffhangers /3

It's been much fun, mishamigos! (Which reminds me, must put Cas in a fic sometime).

I still can't believe how fast I've managed to churn this out...which can be my excuse for the less-than-awesome quality :L

And I don't own any characters, or the Supernatural universe, much to my shame and disappointment.


	8. Did you think I would leave you dying?

The first breath is the beginning of death.  
**Thomas Fuller**

It's what you do, unthinking, that makes the  
quick tear start; the tear may be forgotten...  
but the hurt stays in the heart.  
**Ella Higginson**

The people who pretend that dying is rather like strolling into the next room always leave me unconvinced. Death, like birth,  
must be a tremendous event.  
**J. B. Priestley**

Grief is the price we pay for love**  
****Queen Elizabeth II**

* * *

I sat on a chair I'd pulled into Dean's room, facing away from him, wrapped in a blanket and breathing calmly, quietly, as though in sleep.

My eyes were slitted and trained on a mirror I clasped tightly in my palm; it was placed so that I could see Dean just enough to know if…well. I didn't quite know what to expect.

The thing might know I was conscious and waiting for it right away…or it might not.

I just had to chance it and somehow spot it, despite its invisibility.

The night dragged on slowly. Dean had been asleep for about five minutes when I saw red.

Out of the corner of my eye, just a spot of it; I struggled not to turn around, instead adjusting the mirror, angling it just so.

There was blood blossoming steadily from my brother's chest. And the sickest thing about all this was that he looked peaceful, rested. As he slowly, quietly bled out.

There was a wrench in my gut, but I ignored the feeling, swallowed it.

Feelings were of no use right now, not fear, or empathy; I had to focus. If we didn't kill this thing now, it would be ready the next time. If there was a next time.

As quietly as I could, keeping my breathing even, I extracted the pump shotgun from its place in the crook of my arm, hidden beneath the blanket.

I stopped a moment at a slight sound; but nothing more came of it.

Turning the mirror to focus, I saw my brother shiver; not out of the ordinary, but I got the feeling that somewhere in that other world of complete darkness, beneath his closed eyelids, he was fighting. And it gave me courage.

* * *

_"No. You're not real."_

**_Just concentrate. The pain is irrelevant. It's all in your mind. Now CONCENTRATE._**

_"So, this projection of your family isn't real…so what?"_

_Dean felt fever rip through him. He was fading fast._

_"You have no power but the fear you inspire. You're nothing without it," he grunted, through the haze._

_"I can still hurt you." The thing, which was wearing his father's face, reached out a hand at the level of Dean's chest._

_"No. No, you have nothing." He tried to be unafraid. But he was hurt and aching and so, SO tired and wouldn't it be easier, be better, be a RELIEF to just let go?_

_The John-like thing opened its palm as though holding something heavy, and began opening and closing its hand rhythmically, pulsing._

**_Like a heart. Just like a heart_**_._

_"Dean, haven't you given enough to this world?"_

_He looked into this false John's face, and it was so much like his father, every line, every quirk and slight imperfection that made him _him_, undeniably _John_ in every way. And John looked back._

_"Son. I'm proud of you. So proud."_

_Dean felt a tear slip down his cheek, and he closed his eyes, swallowed tightly._

_"What about Sam?" He felt his voice waver and crack._

_"Sam has a whole life to live. You needed him, but he never needed you."_

_Dean's chin quivered. "I can't leave him."_

_"Yes. Yes you can. It's time to join us."_

_And they were back, everyone he loved, Mom, Dad, countless friends he'd lost, all looking at him, smiling._

_"Is this heaven?"_

_"It could be," said John._

_Dean blinked, hard._

_"Well, this is definitely a dream."_

_John frowned, his hand never ceasing its movement._

_"There's no way I'm headed for heaven." Dean felt his lip quirk. "I'm headed the other way, for sure; see, I hear you go to heaven for the climate, and hell for the company. But see, I've always liked the heat."_

_The dream-John barked out a laugh, but the mirth was lost in a second. The others vanished._

_"Well that's a shame, boy."_

_And the hand, the pulsing hand...dream John started squeezing it, tighter and tighter, an Dean felt nothing at first and then how it _burned_, and he just kept squeezing and Dean felt like his heart was—_

**_his cold dead eyes Dad please don't look at me like that please_**—

_ going to explode and he couldn't help but think he was _weak_, so weak, the other guy, he'd held on, fought and then he couldn't think anymore._

* * *

_Dark and pain so bad it made the dark go white._

_And nothing._

_Just pain._

_And then even that was gone._

* * *

I hoped Dean was giving this thing hell.

Bracing myself for movement, I leapt to my feet, turning in the same instant, and without a though I just starting shooting, right above Dean's chest, just pumped four bullets into the seemingly empty space.

That left two bullets in the chamber.

But then I heard it; a high, piercing noise like the feedback from a guitar placed too close to its amp, so loud it hurt my ears.

I tried to turn to the source of the noise but there was no way to find it; except there, in the corner, there was smoke rising.

I inwardly grinned; the son of a bitch had got exactly what it deserved; wolfsbane infused, holy water-dipped salt rounds, tipped with silver, and engraved with ancient runes designed to ward off evil. One of those had worked like a charm.

But I still had two bullets, so I went to the corner, poked the gun around until I found something solid, and pumped the last couple into it.

With that, the noise stopped. Silence fell like a lead weight. There was a smell; sulphur and something unidentifiable burning.

* * *

My shirt was drenched with sweat as I turned from the corner, toward my brother lying motionless on the bed. His t-shirt was stained red.

"_Dean?!_" I almost fell over as I rushed over in the restricted space.

"DEAN!" There was no pulse as I placed my hand on his damp chest.

**_Oh God oh God Oh God oh God Oh God oh God Oh God oh God Oh God oh God move Dean wake up Oh God_**_—_

I pinched my arm mercilessly, trying to ground myself. My brother was not dead. He could not be dead.

"WAKE UP!" I dragged his dead—

**_NO NOT DEAD_**_—_

weight onto the floor, and began chest compressions.

"Breathe, you stubborn bastard!"

There was nothing. I grabbed my cell out of my pocket with shaky hands; dialed 911 clumsily, dropped my phone and picked it up again, gave as much comprehensible information as I could in around 10 seconds while hyperventilating and sobbing, and went back to thumping Dean's chest. My hands had no force behind them, they were as weak as dead—

**_NOT DEAD—_**

tree limbs, and I felt something in my left wrist give way. I didn't stop, because the pain gave me something real to grab hold of, something other than Dean lying dead—

**_NONONONONONONO SHUT UP SHUT UP_**_—_

before me.

* * *

The ambulance was there in five minutes but I knew it was too late, knew it somewhere deep in my brain but that didn't matter because my heart or my soul or _whatever_ you want to call it KNEW he wasn't going to be dead.

* * *

They wouldn't let me ride in the ambulance.

The gun was hidden in the toilet cistern until I could get it back, and I screamed incoherently at the paramedics that he was MY BROTHER WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN'T BE WITH HIM HE'S—

**_NOT DEAD—_**

HURT I NEED TO BE THERE FOR HIM but they didn't listen, they hustled me out before they even started CPR, and there was a cop asking questions, _questions _as Dean lay in the other room—

**_DON'T YOU EVEN DARE—_**

as though I'd been to blame and maybe I had but I couldn't think that or I'd just die, my heart would burst just like Dean's and I'd die and there'd be nothing—

* * *

There was darkness, full and complete, and he tried to move but he had no body, 'cause there was just dark, on all sides.

* * *

Later there was something, but he couldn't tell what.

* * *

It was sound, the something, but without meaning.

"—awake?"

"—see him!"

"—my brother!"

"—sir, please…"  
"—rest now."

"—he may never regain…"

That was all, for the longest time, moments of volume and then dark and he could never quite tell if the moments would come back, and he could never quite tell if he wanted them to.

Because there was something bad, back where it wasn't all dark.

Something bad.

* * *

They put a pig valve in his heart. I could tease him about that, if—when he woke up.

* * *

Sometimes, there was light. Ghosts of brilliance, specks of something more than sound, and he longed for them like a flower might long for the sun each morning.

One voice was familiar, always agitated, fighting, questioning, and, without even knowing why…he felt _proud_ deep inside himself.

"I need more than 'maybe'."

That, and a bright flash, brighter than ever, so bright it burned, almost pleasantly.

"I know you're concerned for your brother, but there's nothing new I can say. He's doing much better, and we think he may recover, but we can't know for sure, we can _never _know for sure. I'm sorry."

_Brother_. Again, the pride associated with that word. A bright flash. Something was pulling at him.

"Sorry, sorry, _always_ sorry. Just tell me, is he going to wake up. In your opinion. I won't sue you if you're wrong, just…please." Defeated.

"I…listen, Sam…"

_SAM_. _I'm here, Sam. I'm here._

"Doc, please."  
"I've been around coma patients a lot, and…you can never tell. They may seem fine and _never_ come back. I…"

"Doc. I need something." The tone was desperate.

"I don't think he's going to make it back."

There was nothing.

But not the darkness nothing. Just…no one had anything left to say.

A sigh.

The pulling sensation got stronger, and he realised it was coming from somewhere high up…and that he was the one causing it. The light began to come through, stronger.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

_SAM. Sam. Who taught you to give up so easy? I'm here, I'm coming back._

The light, so bright and pure it burned, and the pulling was making the light…he tugged, and his eyes opened, just enough that he was blinded by the day.

_Sam_. It was like speaking, but silent.

_Sam, just look at me_.

"I'm not giving up."

Dean felt a surge of emotion and with it he used every bit of his energy and mustered up a throttled sound like a kicked dog but hell, it was enough.

* * *

"DEAN!?"

I didn't imagine it, because the doctor turned too, his mouth in a comical 'O' shape.

Dean eyes were open, just enough that I knew the sound hadn't come from somewhere else. It had sounded like he'd said _Sammy_.

"Dean!" I grabbed his hand and it probably hurt but it didn't matter, nothing did but Dean was awake and that meant _everything was okay_.

* * *

He squeezed back at the hand grasping at him, and pushed his eyes open, even though the light burned.

It seemed to take forever but then there were shapes in the whiteness, vague and blurred.

"Sammy?" His voice didn't sound like a voice, it sounded like a train wreck but it still made noise in the shape of words.

"Dean, I'm here!" The voice that was choked with sobs came closer, in his ear, whispered; "I knew you wouldn't leave me, you stubborn jerk."

Dean smiled in the very core of him.

Sammy was back.

* * *

He was back. He was back and he didn't remember everything and he couldn't breathe properly for a while and he couldn't get out of bed and everything hurt and he slept a lot but _he was back._

My brother, back from the dead. Because he _had _died. For just under eight minutes, before they managed to get him back.

So it wasn't surprising he couldn't remember everything, and he'd just stop talking in the middle of a sentence, and his hands shook like a junkie in withdrawal.

But he was back.

* * *

I hope you guys are still with me, I never had a plan and this just sort of spilled out...

I'm going to write an epilogue, because I have a few loose ends to tie up...but mostly I'm not ready to end it here.


	9. Epilogue: Beyond The Door

Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees  
Time can break your heart, have you begging please...begging please

Beyond the door there's peace I'm sure  
And I know there'll be no more tears in heaven...

-Eric Clapton: Tears In Heaven

* * *

They sit in the diner, awaiting burgers, and Dean looks genuinely excited.

"Food, Sam! Real food!"

Sam grins, and can't seem to stop.

"You're such a pig."

Dean looks at him, and raises an eyebrow, lip curling. "Now that's just heartless."

The taller brother chuckles into his hand.

"have you two been served, or…?" The waitress is tall, with double-D's at least. Dean ogles her, unabashed.

"Well, we've got food coming, but…" he beckons her close, and whispers something in her ear.

She is surprised, giggling, "you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

As she walks off, Sam notices a flicker of something in Dean's eyes, there and gone before he has time to see what it is.

And then the older brother turns to the younger, and smirks. "She wants me. I am _so_ getting laid tonight."

Sam grins again. He couldn't help himself, even though he knows he looks like an idiot.

"You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"Your hair is still girly. Have you got it cut _at all_ in the last few years? You look like Hannah Montana."

"How do you know who that is?"

"Sometimes the only channel motels have is Disney." Dean shrugs.

"Uh-huh."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

And they're okay.

For a while.

* * *

Okay, I just _had_ to get it off my chest, so two chapters in one night, lucky you...well, a chapter and an epilogue.

I probably should have gone to bed hours ago, but I couldn't stop thinking about this.

I hope the ending is okay, I hope it's all okay...

And I'd love to know what you all think, so if you feel it, review. Would love to know if I can improve; I haven't got the depth of knowledge that comes from experience like some of you may, being 17 and all, so if you have anything to say, PM or review.

Thank you and goodnight.


End file.
